It is not physical suffering that affrights me—I am able to bear that—but this continual torture of soul, this contempt that is to pursue me everywhere. I, so proud, so sure of my honor, it is that that I find so terrible; that that I shrink from.
Well, my darling, I will not torture your heart any longer; your grief is already great enough.
I embrace you fondly.
Alfred.
Wednesday, 10 P. M.
I do not sleep, and it is to you that I return. Am I then marked by a fatal seal, that I must drink this cup of bitterness! At this moment I am calm. My soul is strong, and it rises in the silence of the night. How happy we were, my darling! Life smiled on us; fortune, love, adorable children, a united family—Everything! Then came this thunderbolt, fearful, terrible. Buy, I pray of you, playthings for the children, for their New Year’s day; tell them that their father sends them. It must not be that these poor souls, just entering upon life, should suffer through our pain.
Oh, my darling, had not I you how gladly would I die! Your love holds me back; it is your love only that makes me strong enough to bear the hatred of a nation.
And the people are right to hate me: they have been told that I am a traitor. Ah, traitor, the horrible word! It breaks my heart.
I ... traitor! Is it possible that they could accuse me and condemn me for a crime so monstrous!